


Fluff Fest

by kimtristh



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 00:12:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimtristh/pseuds/kimtristh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles from fluff prompts received on my tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jumper

**Author's Note:**

> We all need a fluff injection, so I set out to write some jolly good times. All fluff, all the time! If you have a prompt you can send it [here](http://teddy-grohl.tumblr.com). Thanks for reading :) xx

As far as birthday presents goes, Hannibal is pretty sure Will Graham could do better.

"Thank you, Will," he says, because it's rude not to appreciate the gifts one is given, but he also wonders just how rude would it be to wear the purple and brown monstrosity sitting on his desk.

"You should put it on," Will says, averting his eyes but with a gentle smile as his eyes travel down the shape of the older man, and Hannibal would find that adorable if he wasn't so mortified for the time being. He unbuttons his jacket then, folding it carefully and placing it over his desk, and wearing only his shirt, begins to fumble with the jumper with a clumsiness completely uncharacteristic of him.

He figures it is probably better that he wears it now than when they're out and about, as long as they have this hour (two hours most of the times, three hours when neither of them needs to wake up early and thus the commute does not matter), nobody will witness him in this... unexpectedly fluffy garment of hell.

The sleeves are longer than his arms by at least three inches, the hem of the sleeve reaching to the middle of his palm. The shoulders drop over the curve of his back and it is completely loose around his torso. It is also extremely soft, though, it's like holding a baby bunny, like being snuggled by a giant cat.

"Mmmm," Hannibal hums, and it's less distressed and more relaxed than he would have expected, and Will is soon approaching him, getting in his personal space with the familiarity that they found long ago.

"So you like it?," Hannibal can't bring himself to lie, but he also can't bring himself to accept that, so he gives Will a flat smile that Will responds in earnest. "I didn't pick it because of the design."

Hannibal exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding, relaxing under the soft cloudy fabric, and then, he tenses up just for a second, as Will's arms wrap around his stronger frame. 

Will's face is buried against Hannibal's neck, his breath tickling him, his curls brushing against his face. His chest against the older man's, their hearts beginning to beat at the same pace, as biology would have it.

Hannibal returns the hug, and he lets his own face sink into the softness of the younger man's form. He has long learned that whatever excuse is good to get closer to Will Graham.


	2. Tears

He dabs at your face with a gentleness you never expected, the soft touch of his handkerchief wiping away the traces of salt and wetness the tears have left behind. You can't quite see him, your eyes are tired, blurry with sadness and eyelids heavy after one too many days without sleep.

You hate to cry, you were always one to swallow the tears down, despite how evident it was that you felt everything ten times more deeply than any of the other kids. A kid would fall down and cut his knee and you'd flinch as if it had been your own, a girl would be crying because her mother yelled at her and you'd be feeling her sadness. It became a matter of survival - you couldn't cry every time you felt like it, so you simply don't.

You don't even know what triggered it, the dry heaving cutting your throat as you gasp for breath, his impossibly gentle fingers wiping away at the stray tears that fall from the corner of your eye. He doesn't seem to mind that you're getting him dirty, you're all the more grateful because of that.

Before you know it, you've thrown yourself in the arms of the older man, sobbing harshly against his shoulder, drooling and smearing tears all over his suit, and he lets you. Fingers start running through your hair, and he sweetly whispers something that you can make out as "Let it out, my dear Will."

Long minutes pass, you are weak and tired, right about now you could definitely use a shower and some sleep, if you could even dream of a peaceful night. Your throat is dry and your lips are chapped as you croak out "I'm sorry about your suit."

Hannibal takes a side-eyed look at his shoulder, and with that smile of his says simply "Don't worry, the FBI pays for my dry-cleaning," so you smile back.


	3. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saved a bunch of prompts because I figured we'd need them today ;( will be posting over the next few days :) HANG IN THERE EVERYONE D; XX

There is nothing out of the ordinary about Will when he sleeps. 

There are the night sweats, the occasional muttering, the shaking - but none of that is extraordinary. None of them are happening right now.

It was Hannibal's idea, a quite silly one he thought, but it seemed to be working. Will was exhausted, some sleep would do him good... and there was the clinical aspect of it all as well. Being able to watch the effects of his troubled mind during sleep.

Hannibal runs his finger down the younger man's body, his relaxed stance reminding him of his beloved strays, the absolute trust in which he has laid himself out for him in his office, the fact that he might be dreaming.

He looks vulnerable, soft, but he doesn't look helpless. He looks way more solid than his nervous stance allows him to be in his waking hours. There is a hint of snoring, the heavy breaths making strands of his hair sway, probably tickling his face when they move. Hannibal can't help but wonder how that breath would feel on his face.

His mouth is half open, cheek pressed against the cushion and Hannibal envies the lack of composure that allows him to just sprawl himself like that, Hannibal is nothing like it, even in sleep keeping a solid posture that most people would be surprised is what allows him to rest.

He half wishes he had offered him his bed instead, a nightly stay at his home, nothing to it but watching - but at home. Will in his home. That's always something he enjoys.

He walks softly towards the chaise longue and kneels by the younger man's head, watching more closely and still feeling marvelled at the way the younger man's skin glows even in slumber. He inhales deeply, the smell that is not soap or cologne or even illness or dogs but just Will, clouding his senses.

Hannibal runs his fingers gently through Will's hair, the curls bending softly under his touch, allowing him to rake his nails gently across Will's tense scalp and Will sighs in his sleep. 

Will is beautiful. Hannibal can't help but hope that, considering how well he slept today, he'll be more willing to share an evening next time.


End file.
